


All Folks Are Damaged Goods

by Queerapika



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Queer Themes, pronouns for Kurapika will vary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerapika/pseuds/Queerapika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing that Kurapika wouldn't do to ensure Pairo's recovery. Sometimes, this means ruling a ruined mafia family from the shadows. But sometimes you can find the answers to all your prayers in the shape of a stranger. Leorio finds himself in an odd position as Kurapika's ways of hiring him are anything but ordinary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down_

_Yeah, we couldn't destroy a single one_

_And history books forgot about us_

Regina Spektor, “Samson”

* * *

 

The bird squawked restlessly, as it sensed the oncoming storm. The sky responded with a rumble of thunder, only a heartbeat afterward. The air was wrong. Too thick.

“The reason we wanted to go into the outside world...”, Pairo had said, and then Kurapika found it hard to focus on his best friend's voice. He did not want this goodbye that felt like a farewell.

“It's because we wanted to have adventures like that.”

He would have to hurry and find a doctor, or Pairo would never be able to go on an adventure, even if he passed the exam.

Pairo smiled and pointed at him. “Kurapika... you promise me as well. When you return, Kurapika, I'll have just one question. 'Was it fun?' I'll ask that, so... you have to have such a journey that you can answer 'yes' from the bottom of your heart.” [1]

He promised. He promised, and things still felt wrong. Why could his friend not come with him? Had he failed to convince the village Elder, had he not used every bit of stubbornness and reason to explain again and again that time was a crucial factor, and that Pairo's chances of being cured would be higher if he tagged along?

 _'I remember this differently,'_ he thought, only half lucid.

Kurapika reached out for that small hand-

(So small.)

(They were just children.)

The bird moved, no – the world set in motion. The world _distorted_ and carried away the village that had been his home.

 _'They are all dead,'_ he thought.

He smelled fire. The skies turned black, pillars of clouds sunk down and where they touched the earth they burst into tiny spiders, thousands, millions of them, crawling closer, devouring everything.

The wind tugged at Kurapika's robes, howling like a banshee.

 

Kurapika woke with a choked sob, his eyes glowing scarlet.

His skin felt cold and clammy, his heartbeat felt too small for his chest and seemed to hum through ever fiber of his body. A familiar dread settled in his bones as the ghosts of his memories came back to haunt him. Yes, they were all dead. All but one of them.

The time, announced by a square digital radio, was 1:13.

On the floor beside his bed, phosphorescent sticky tape lead the way. Kurapika had followed this path for many nights now, even though it initially had not been glued onto the wooden floor for his sake. He could see everything in his spacious room clearly, because here, the night was gray, illuminated by a thousand artificial lights.

The path led from one bedroom to another and through a doorway that had no door. Kurapika was careful not to bump into the wheel chair, lest he wake Pairo. He knelt in front of the bed, bowing his head so low that it was almost touching Pairo's forehead.

They were both alive and breathing the same air, but for Kurapika, Pairo's existence was a bit more real, a bit more solid than his own. Pairo was kind and gentle and bruised – despite everything that happened to them, despite what they had lost. He was Kurapika's anchor. If he should lose Pairo-

“Do you want to stay there all night?”, Pairo asked with a hint of amusement.

“I knew you weren't sleeping.”

“No you didn't.”

Kurapika's lips curled up in a wan smile. “I could tell it by the sound of your breathing.”

“Want to sleep here?” Besides everything else, Pairo was the person who knew Kurapika best; so he offered closeness where Kurapika was too proud to ask for it. “I promise, I don't kick in my sleep,” he added.

“I swear, Pairo, I will _punch_ you,” Kurapika huffed as he crawled under the cover. He was lying dangerously close to the edge, but he didn't want his friend to move over. Not when the legs he bumped into were mere sticks. He was fine where he was; he never moved much in his sleep anyway.

“Was it the spiders again?”, Pairo asked shyly once Kurapika had settled.

“No.” Technically, that was not a lie. “I dreamed about the day we left the village. Only I headed off alone, without you.”

The younger Kurta boy yawns and exhales through his nose; it tickled Kurapika's cheeks. “But that's silly. You'd never leave me behind.”

“I know. How foolish of me to even think that.”

In the end, it would come closer to the truth to say that he had stolen his friend away. No matter how much Kurapika had begged and tried to convince the village elder, the old man had refused his blessing and so, with the help of their parents, the boys had sneaked away the night before Kurapika's planned departure. There had been no grand farewell, just quiet good-luck-wishes and teary-eyed hugs and the deep fear in their stomachs that someone else would wake and try to stop them.

No one came to hold them back. And now, no one would be mad at them once they returned, because there was nothing left to return to.

That night, Kurapika would find no more sleep.


	2. A Study in Rudeness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which genderfluid demiboy Kurapika is a thing and Leorio gets bullied via phone

_And I am the one who you can call at any time_

_Where are you? Where am I?_

_When are we going to escape?_

Jukebox the Ghost, “Don't let me fall behind”

* * *

It started with a series of peculiar phone calls.

 

The first one woke him at three in the morning. Leorio was awake instantly; heart beating at an erratic pace before a cold dread settled in his stomach. Late night calls were always bad news. The number was an unfamiliar one, but that didn't mean it couldn’t be connected to Gon or Killua getting in trouble; and he hadn't heard from the kids since the auction six months ago.

“Hello?”

“Leorio Paladiknight?”, a gentle female voice inquired. Her words were calm, not exactly what you'd expect from a harbinger of doom. Leorio relaxed a bit. He scratched the stubble on his jaw. “Yes, that's me.”

She hung up on him.

His brain, alert but disoriented, tried to grasp what the fuck had just happened.

He redialed. The phone was picked up again, greeting him with nothing but silence on the other end. Leorio took a deep breath.

“WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT? DON'T CALL PEOPLE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT IF YOU DON'T INTEND TO SAY SOMETHING?!”

“Please refrain from calling this number,” the lady replied, unfazed. “Any further contact will be initiated from our side. Have a good night.”

“Now wait a sec-”

But she had already hung up on him again. Leorio dialed the number again a couple of times, but as promised, no one picked up. No one turned off the phone either. He cursed and went back to sleep, thinking of the event as a really shitty prank.

 

The second call reached him a few days later, after classes. Leorio was still on campus, heading towards the canteen to organize dinner. It was the same number, and had he bothered to memorize it, he would have saved himself some trouble by ignoring his buzzing phone.

“Hello?”

“You are a rookie Hunter.”

“Who is this?” But he knew. He recognized the woman's relaxing sing-song voice instantly. She was not so foolish comply to his request – whatever this was, the other party demanded a certain level of anonymity – but urged him for confirmation instead.

“Why do you care?”

“Please, Leorio-san. I will repeat my questions until you are willing to answer them to our satisfaction.”

“Tch. Fine. I am a rookie Hunter, so what?” That information was available on the Hunter website, for everyone who was willing to look for it. No use in denying _that_. The question was, why were people stupid enough to pay money for getting information about him?

“You are twenty years old?”

“I am.”

“You enrolled for medical studies a year ago?”

“Yes.”

“Did you pass the secret exam yet?”

“Who are you, a damn talent scout?” _Hunters must hunt something._ In order to fulfill the first Hunter Commandment, rookie Hunters were bound to choose a field to specialize in sooner or later. In fact, finding out how to apply was often part of the application process. Leorio had wondered what happened to those who were deemed unfit or who simply refused to pick a specialization. Technically speaking, it was not impossible that a few types of Hunters actively recruited new applicants. However, it was also likely that this was a test by his Nen teacher. To keep one's Nen abilities as secret as possible from other people wasn't even a principle that was taught – it was plain common sense.

“Please, just answer the question.”

“Well, what if I _refuse_?” Leorio raised his voice like a petulant teenager. Pedestrians stopped to look at him, confused. A baby started crying in the distance. 

The lady on the phone fell silent for almost a minute – just when Leorio was convinced she'd put the phone down and left, she spoke up again. “This is not a prank, Leorio-san. If you meet our qualifications, there is a job waiting for you that includes a generous payment. None of the information you give us will be distributed to a third party. All we ask in return is honesty and a certain amount of secrecy.”

“These are the only conditions?” It was a very vague offer, _too_ vague for a scam. He should know, he had spent most of his youth learning how to cheat money out of people's pockets, partially for his own protection. You can't afford to be the trusting sort when you grow up in a neighborhood so poor, that sometimes even your clothes got stolen from the clotheslines that hung between houses in the narrow backyard alleys.

“For now, that would be all. If you decide to take up on our offer, there will be more conditions to discuss. Now, to repeat my question-”

“I passed.” And what a pain in the ass that had been, coordinating his Nen studies with his medical studies, while getting any rest at all, but he had stubbornly persevered to reach the same level as Gon and Killua when he'd last seen them.

“In this case, we need to know your aura type.”

He ignored the chill going up his spine. That was not information he should share with someone whose intent he couldn’t know and he already kind of broke with that rule earlier this month, in a foolish attempt to impress a pretty boy. That hadn't led anywhere – but this thing, this offer, this might mean a change, for better or worse.

“I'm an Emitter.”

“We will contact you soon.”

 

Melody let out a shaky sigh as she put the cell phone down and the weary lines on her face relaxed.

To her sensitive ears, there was no such thing as quiet. All things made noise. Dissonances, harmonies: they determined whether an environment was stressful or invigorating. And after the sea of voices and background noises she had struggled to make sense of, Kurapika's library was a pool of comfortably familiar sound: the soft buzzing of the automatic door engine, Kurapika's breathing and the anticipating rhythm of their beating heart.

Kurapika had asked her to make a few calls in their stead, following the conversations eagerly as the phone was put on loudspeaker and providing guidance by using sign language. She had needed that – the young man had proven uncooperative at first, not that she could blame him.

“So, what is your impression?,” Kurapika asked and poured her a cup of tea. Usually food and drink was not allowed in the library in order to protect the books, particularly some older tomes whose pages were vulnerable to humidity. However, considering how much of a strain was put on Melody by Kurapika's selfish request, they were willing to make an exception.

“For someone who gets upset so easily, he was surprisingly honest. I would have expected him to lie a few times, just out of spite.” She was glad; Kurapika had given her the explicit instruction not to call Leorio-san out on his lies, for it would imply that they either already had the answers to those questions or that one of them had the means to spot a lie. Either assumption was partially true.

“He's trusting. Or smart enough to know that lying won't benefit him in the long run. Hopefully both.”

What concerned her most was that Kurapika had been rather cryptic when it came to the means he used to obtain information about Leorio Paladiknight. They had made an off-hand remark about running into this man by chance during their last job, but there was no way a Hunter, even a rookie, would have revealed this much about himself by idle chit-chat. Also, the website of the Hunter Association did not provide data regarding a Hunter's Nen abilities, unless said Hunter was outlawed based on the 4th Commandment of the Association.

“Shouldn't we rather try to hire an accredited doctor? Someone whose reputation we can check?,” Melody asked softly. That Kurapika was picky when it came to medical decisions was not news, however involving someone who was neither a member of the mafia, nor a professional...

Had the incident in Yorknew City shaken them so much?

Kurapika's heartbeat was strong and certain when they said: “It has to be him. If I'm not mistaken, Leorio is still in the process of developing his Hatsu-techniques, which makes it easier for us to get him to acquire the technique we need. He has a lot of compassion, so I'm positive he will be motivated to help. Judging by the shape of his Ten, his Nen abilities are... fickle, and potentially inconsistent, so his performance may depend on how serious he is about the whole ordeal.”

“In other words, his potential depends on how much he likes his patient?”

“That is my theory, yes.”

That was a lot of speculation and if it wasn't for the fact that Kurapika had already spoken to this man before, Melody would have asked them to reconsider.

“Is there something you're not telling me?”

Kurapika sighed, but refrained from pointing out how  _unfair_ this question was. “Yes. But it's nothing important.”

That was not a lie, but there was a good chance that Melody had a different understanding of  _important_ than Kurapika had.

 

The third call reached Leorio on a lazy Saturday morning, just when he had forced his body out of bed. He offered a tired groan as a greeting. “Do you have any idea how early it is?”

“I recommend you check your mail,” the woman said. “You will find a blank envelope.”

_'It's too early for this shit.'_ “I'm still in my pajamas. I didn't intend to get out of my pajamas before noon. Go away.” He scuffled into his kitchen, preparing the coffee that would transform him into something akin to a functioning person. Also, Leorio was fairly sure he heard someone coughing in the mystery lady's background. He ignored it and focused on more important things.

Water. Filter. Coffee grounds.

The coffee machine  came alive with a lot of sputtering and hissing.

“In the envelope you will find a key. We took the freedom to rent you a cubicle in the central library. It is already equipped with some literature you might find interesting.”

“What's your name?”

“Pardon?”

“You wanna make a deal with me, right? This is the third time you're calling; I think it's only fair if I know how to address you.”

There was silence. The fine hairs on the back of Leorio's neck rose as he was overcome with a sense of  _deja vu_ ... or the acoustic version thereof.

“My name is Melody.” 

The overwhelming warm and earthy aroma of coffee filled the tiny kitchen and Leorio breathed in deeply. “Thanks.”

“We have some prints prepared for you as well. We recommend you have read them by Tuesday.”

“What if I slack off?”

“Then it will get really awkward when we pick you up on Wednesday.”

He groaned again. Did these people even consider that studying might be work, too? He still had an essay to finish by next Friday and homework to do in preparation for the anatomy seminary on Tuesday. Maybe he could squeeze it into the free term after the seminary, but that really depended on the work load. Then again, picking up the prints would give him a good excuse to go out this evening. He had been frequenting  _the Living Room_ cafe recently, absolutely not hoping for a chance to see the attractive little blond there again. Because that would've been super stupid, and after almost fucking up the Hunter Exam last year, he had promised himself he would start making better life choices. 

“Did you fall asleep, Leorio-san?”, Melody asked carefully.

Leorio flinched. “No! No, I'm sorry. Where am I supposed to meet up with you on Wednesday?”

“There is a biological garden that belongs to the university, in the east of town. Do you know the place?” 

“Yeah.” He knew where it was, although he couldn't claim having set foot into it.

“We expect you there between five and six pm. Give us a call once you're by the entrance, and you will be given further instructions. Come alone.”

“Got it.”

There a brief pause before Melody said: “My coworker wants to let you know that you can go back to bed now.”

“Well, doesn't your coworker sound like a ray of sunshine,” Leorio grumbled. The last thing he needed now was to have his sleeping habits mocked by strangers. But Melody laughed, low and sweet and that sound made him smile.

“See you on Wednesday, Leorio-san.”

 

Leorio had never taken much interest in plants, aside from those that were edible and those of medical value; the dusty, sun-baked streets he'd once played on were much clearer in his memory than the various herbs his father had grown in old, cracked teapots and that his old man had tended to with an almost religious devotion. Those herbs were the secret behind the ever changing taste of his family's pigeon stew – that and insane amounts of garlic, which was the only vegetable they had enough room for to grow themselves. In the city that Leorio had grown up, most native plants were thick and stingy, and he remembered several afternoons in which he hunted for aloe because his friend Pietro had been collecting cactus fruit – which tasted fresh and faintly sweet, but possessed red prickles as thin as hair that stuck to the skin, and stung awfully, which caused little irritated spots on the greedy child's hands.

One could say his relationship with plant-life was a difficult one.

Therefore, Leorio hoped that he wouldn't have to wait very long in the botanical garden before he got to meet the people who were trying their best to make his life even more complicated. At least he wouldn't have to pay an entrance fee – the garden's ornate metal doors were wide open, allowing people to enter and leave at leisure.

He called Melody at 5 pm sharp; she picked up right away.

“I'm there.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Are you by any chance allergic to anything, Leorio-san?”

“Not that I know.”

“Good. My coworker is waiting for you in the orangery. They will lead you.”

“How am I supposed to recognize... them?” He repeated the last word cautiously, not quite sure if he heard that right. He was supposed to meet with only one person, but wasn't a singular _they_ only used when referring to someone of unknown gender? Surely Melody should know the gender of her coworker?

“Look for someone who carries book with them. They're hard to miss.”

Irritation had a bad effect on his posture and so Leorio entered the garden, looking more crouched than usual. Visitors were sparse; the people he passed by were mainly employees buzzing around with the mission to pretty up the garden after the winter's slumber. They moved trees in large pots, or cut the bushes to help them sprout stronger in spring. It was early March, that critical season that was neither winter nor spring: the vegetation was still hibernating, but lacking a thick layer of snow a large quantity of the outside area looked anything but attractive. Black, naked, soggy.

It made Leorio want to go back home and huddle under a blanket with a cup of coffee. Why couldn’t these suspicious meetings ever happen anywhere warm and cozy?

The garden had no map, but the main paths were paved with red brick stones and easy to follow, each intersection had a finger post, leading him to the orangery in no time. The building appeared empty of any human activity at first, until Leorio spotted a small figure on a bench under a fig tree. He might have thought them a young woman, if it hadn't been for Melody's remark. Not just because of the long auburn braid that was casually draped over one shoulder, but he had yet to meet a man who wore short shorts over colored tights and oversized sweaters, especially if said sweater had golden baroque ornaments on it.

Leorio cleared his throat to get their attention. They didn't look up from their book, which was a real joke, because he doubted anyone could read while wearing shades that dark –  _indoors_ . “I think you're supposed to pick me up?”, he tried again. There was no need for subtlety if there was no one around to eavesdrop. Not that Leorio had been one for subtlety in the first place.

They shut their book with a noisy  _thump_ and stood up, while beckoning him to stay close.

They did not speak, not even if Leorio tried to start up a conversation, but they adjusted their walking pace to Leorio's big steps, walking beside him to avoid unnecessary attention. (Although, optically speaking, they were too oddly matched to not stick out.)

That made it harder for Leorio to observe their... well, everything. They only reached about the height of his shoulders, so trying to catch a glimpse of their eyes was out of the question. He tried to find clues about their identity elsewhere then, from the graceful-yet-determined way they carried themselves to the disapproving thin line of their lips.

If they noticed or were bothered by Leorio's behavior, they did not show.

They followed the street down to the nearest intersection, passing a children's playground and then took a sharp right.

A black limousine was parked amongst several middle class vehicles; Leorio's silent companion went a few steps ahead and opened the door for him.

Leorio climbed in as gracefully as his long limbs allowed, but not without bumping his head on the roof. He placed his red and black suitcase neatly on his lap and the door was slammed shut behind him.

The car possessed two rows of cream colored suede seats – which must have cost a fortune, certainly more than Leorio had ever possessed in his entire life, but he was not going to feel small about that, oh no, he was having none of that today. On the row opposing his, her back facing the driver, sat the smallest woman Leorio had ever seen. She was perfectly tiny and rather round and unlike her colleague, willing to greet him with a smile. He had to admit that, judging by her voice, he had expected Melody to be much more attractive... but that this was Melody, he had no doubt.

“So we meet at last, Leorio-san,” she said.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Just 'Leorio' is fine.”

As soon as that other person slipped and took their seat next to Melody, the car set in motion.

“So, you people want me to work on a medical project, I assume?” The prints he was supposed to read had been medical publications with no hint whatsoever regarding which scientific journal they had been released in. Leorio had tried to get access to articles about similar researches online, via the library’s database, but without results.

Melody looked to her partner, who had crossed their arms in front of their chest. She used sign language to consult with them, which made Leorio wonder if the silent sweater wearing person was in charge of all the important things. Then again, they didn't look so great – they possessed a pale complexion and Leorio could make out a slight tremor of the right hand, where they wore rings on each finger. From every ring, a chain snaked up their arm, disappearing in the sleeve. Leorio could hear them rattle with every poignant, almost harsh, hand motion.

Perhaps they weren't in charge at all. Perhaps they were one of the patients.

 

Kurapika was not okay. Melody had heard their heartbeat staggering with rage, she was familiar with the cold song of fear, but she had never before witnessed them in such a state of anxiety. The rhythm was quite similar to anticipation, but Melody could hear the distress in every shaky breath that Kurapika took, could see it in the way their knuckles whitened as they clenched their hands deeper.

Leorio, on the other hand, showed not the slightest sign of nervousness.

_What's the matter?_ Melody signed.

_I don't know._ Was the short reply. Then,  _I think he figured me out._

_So?_

Kurapika repeated the motions for  _I don't know_ , before beckoning her to go on. 

“I guess 'medical project' is the right term. You will be assigned a single patient. Have you read the literature we provided you with?”

Leorio fixed his attention on Kurapika, who flinched.

“Do I know the patient personally?”

Kurapika's heartbeat rose quickly, but started to calm down gradually. Their lips parted and they sat a little straighter. Just when Melody was convinced that Kurapika would speak up, they merely shook their head.

Leorio's eyes narrowed, as he let out a small disgruntled noise. He jerked his head in Melody's direction, but his eyes were fixed on the Kurta. “All right, I am done playing this stupid game. I'm sure the whole circus with the phone calls made sense in some way, but if you actually expect me to do something, you better drop the disguise and give me some facts, because it seems like Melody doesn't know anything. No offense, Melody,” he added hastily.

“No offense taken,” Melody reassured, voice as light as feathers. Kurapika may have described Leorio as trusting, but there was more to that. His heartbeat did not speak of ill intent; its thudding was accented with care and concern, even now when they had given him no reason to care for them.

Kurapika chuckled and leaned back. The chains rattled quietly as their hands unclenched, until cold fingers lay flat on their arms. “What gave me away?”

Like a flower blooming in time lapse, Leorio's smile widened with the current of different emotions. Surprise, joy, and a childish triumph were all written so clearly on his face, it was almost embarrassing to watch. And to think that he opened himself because of such a tiny matter, just the sound of another person's voice – that was a dangerous thing, to live so brightly, to be so vulnerable.

“You mean aside from the fact that no one would wear sunglasses inside a dim car?” Leorio was teasing, fueled by his small victory.

Kurapika made a noise at the back of their throat. “You're one to talk,” they said under their breath, but took off the glasses either way, tucking them into the collar of their sweater.

“It was the articles I was supposed to read, that tipped me off. They both required a type of Nen emission so close to my own, that there was no way it would've been a coincidence. So whoever picked these prints already knew about my Nen ability – and that left either you or my Nen teacher.”

“Good to know that you're not quite as useless when it comes to deductions as I originally thought.” 

“Do you always use insults to praise people?”

“I'm just being honest, don't mistake that for praise.” But Kurapika's words lacked any bite, and the warm pride that lulled their heartbeat revealed the lie. It was by no means comparable to the fondness they held for Pairo, but Melody was glad to find out that there was someone else with whom Kurapika was on utterly unprofessional, friendly terms. 

“You're being exhausting, that's what you are.” Leorio let out a long-suffering sigh that was only partially for the dramatic effect.

“If you are done complaining, Leorio, perhaps you could focus back on the task at hand. We will arrive at our destination in roughly fifteen minutes – it's time you should get acquainted with the case. Any last questions?”

Leorio raised his hand.

“Just one – your name isn't really Kurt, is it?”

 


	3. Protecting Most Fiercely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we take a step back to view a first meeting, Baise proves to be a trans-inclusive radfem and medical discussions take place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika's preferred pronouns are he/they. They only ever insist on the "they" if they are having a bad gender day, therefore the pronouns used for them will vary.

_You are an owl, with tired eyes_

_I am a scarecrow in disguise [...]_

_And I'm turning off all the lights tonight_

_Saw you in a crowded bar, pale with hungry eyes_

Seabear, “Arms”

* * *

Their first meeting started with the words: “Mind if I sit here?”

Leorio made a noise. He was already two beers past minding anything in particular and had hoped to reach the blessed state of not-giving-a-fuck-about-anything with his next bottle, so what he was trying to say with his careless noise was: _'you might as well'_. He side-eyed the stranger... and his mouth went slack.

The newcomer had the most golden shade of blond hair that Leorio had ever seen on a person. He was also kind of _tiny_ , and wore a really fancy earring. Like all attractive people, he immediately made Leorio feel inferior and overly aware of the awkward way he carried his own body: bent down and all angles, the result of years of trying to fit in with a family that was a head smaller than he was.

He straightened his back, just when the boy was about to sit down on the armchair facing Leorio.

“Careful with that chair, the the cushions-”

The blond yelped.

“-give in.”

“Why do they even have these chairs?”, he demanded to know with an accusing glare at the object in question. His hands clawed onto the armrest.

“The cafe's called _The Living Room_ for a reason.”

All of the cafe's furniture had been gathered from other people's households by the look of it; the pieces had a similar rococo design, but the type of wood and the fabric varied; there were signs of use which added to the homely charm, Leorio supposed. The clientele was mainly students who were used to own furniture in far worse condition.

“You're not from here, are you?”, he asked. There was no particular reason to assume this, except that pretty boy was dressed a bit too lightly for the weather in his black skinny jeans and blue flannel shirt.

“Not really, no.”

“I'm Leorio.” He offered his hand – and the blond chose to ignore it. Black eyes scanned him coolly; Leorio retreated, feeling more like a subject of examination than a new acquaintance. Well, he supposed it would've been a bit too much to ask for meeting someone who possessed manners in addition to their stunning looks.

“I'm Kurt,” the blond said just when Leorio was convinced he had lost all ability to speak.

Kurt ordered a chai latte and brushed off any attempts of small talk with monosyllabic answers and somber glances to the door. Rude. He probably thought highly of himself. Probably had every right to think highly of himself, judging by the grace in his every movement, even the small gestures.

Leorio's feet tapped impatiently. “You don't talk much, do you?”

“I didn't come here to talk.”

_'Then why did you choose to sit here in the first place?'_ It didn't make sense. The cafe was not crowded enough to require people to share tables, so Kurt must have had a reason for singling out Leorio – or this very table. Was it the door? From where Kurt sat, he could keep an eye on who entered and left the cafe, while his own figure was partially hidden behind a decorative pillar.

Using _Gyo_ to confirm his suspicions, Leorio found that Kurt's body was not shrouded in aura. In fact, if he focused on the other customers, he could spot the thin thread of life energy rising from their heads – that Kurt was lacking it, meant he was a Nen user skilled enough to use Zetsu. Which meant...

“You're a Hunter!”

The blond struck faster than a snake. Leorio felt warm fingers clamping over his mouth while Kurt's face loomed dangerously close, dark eyes feral. He was so close that the med student could see the rims of his contact lenses, the thickness of his light lashes, even a hint of freckles on a fine nose.

“Would you keep it down?” he hissed and, for a split second, Leorio considered licking that hand, just to see what a face the boy would make. However, he was neither ten nor born with a death wish, so his tongue stayed where it was. “I don't need the entire cafe to know,” Kurt said and put down his hand slowly, but his eyes remained on Leorio, glaring disapprovingly in a way that reminded him of his mother.

_'Hah. We're not so aloof after all, are we?'_

A blond eyebrow cocked up in irritation and Kurt clucked his tongue. “I had mistaken you for a Hunter as well, but I'm not so sure about that anymore. Your deduction skills are kind of slow and your Ten is flickering like a candle – if I were you, I'd work on that.”

“How is that _any_ of your business?”

“-and you puff up like a threatened rooster at every occasion.”

“Are you always so annoying?”

“Are _you_ always so noisy?”

A waitress approached their table. She did not scold either for bothering the rest of the customers, but the way she cleared her throat before placing the ordered chai latte spoke volumes. Kurt thanked her politely, as if he wasn't a little shit who could dish out insults at an absurd speed. Leorio scoffed and took a sip from his abandoned beer. It was warm now and had a strong malty note that didn't quite fit his tastes, but he would still finish it, just like he would sit through whatever this was that Kurt had started. Leorio decided that he didn't like this boy after all. Who did he think he was, waltzing into his life and criticizing everything that Leorio had worked hard for to achieve, all the while knowing nothing about his situation?

Kurt stirred his tea. He waited until the waitress was out of earshot again, before he said: “Well, now would be a good time to ask you if you're here for work reasons.” He wrapped both hands around his cup and raised it to blow gently over the steaming liquid. Leorio noticed for the first time that the elegant small nails of Kurt's hand had been painted golden.

“I'm not.” Leorio put down his bottle with more vigor than necessary and crossed his arms before his chest, sulking.

“In this case I should probably apologize.”

“Hell, yeah, you- really? You don't look the apologizing sort.” Not that he would complain, but if Kurt was going to be an ass, he'd better stay one because Leorio didn't have the energy to revoke his opinion every 5 minutes.

“You're wearing a suit, so it was safe to assume you're here for business reasons, and had you been a pro Hunter, my objective would have been to make sure you don't get in the way of my job. But although the fabric of your suit has a good quality, it shows first signs of getting worn out, meaning you wear it a lot, maybe every day. I conclude you own only this one, or perhaps a second one for special occasions; _were_ you a pro Hunter you could afford more. In other words... I'm sorry I treated you like a potential rival. I'm sure you're doing just fine for a... rookie? Although using your Ten like that in public might really draw some unwanted attention.”

It was creepy how he did that and at the same time, impressive. Leorio wished he could come up with something equally smart, but the one thing he was good at was identifying noticeable symptoms and aside from dark rings under his eyes, Kurt seemed to be in excellent health. Instead, Leorio tried for an explanation that didn't sound entirely lame. “I spent the last months studying for finals, so I didn't have much time for practicing my Nen. I use every opportunity I get.”

But he followed the advice given and switched from Ten to Zetsu fluently.

Kurt fell silent. He checked his watch, then the door again.

Leorio finished his beer, trying to tell himself that he didn't care that he'd lost the blond's interest, but the truth was that he cared too much about too many things. Although not anxious by nature, he found it hard to ignore that deep-rooted voice in his head insisting that he was not good enough, had never been, and it was in moments like this when the voice roared up and sharpened its claws, wearing him thin.

He could not know that Kurt's silence meant something else, just like he could not know that the blond's name was not Kurt at all – that fact he'd learn three weeks later.

 

(“It's Kurapika. Kurt is one of my aliases,” he _, they_ would confess, after pulling off the auburn wig. Leorio also learned in that moment that Kurapika's ears turned red when they were embarrassed. And that they had no hesitation to slap the hands of anyone who tried to touch them without permission, even if one was just trying to help getting rid of the mess of bobby pins that were necessary to hold a wig in place.)

 

While Leorio's hands got sweaty with self-consciousness, Kurapika was counting the seconds between his heavy heartbeats, staring at the door as if he could will them to repel the criminal he was hunting this particular night. He had not heard from the others, so their target had not appeared in another cafe either.

Kurapika spared Leorio a quick glance. The student was worrying the sticker on his beer with his thumb; broad shoulders now sagged. ' _What a ridiculous person_ ,' Kurapika decided. Leorio's appearance was that of a man grown, his physique appealing to the outside world's concept of masculinity: a prominent Adam's apple, the set of his jaw that was both long and angular, a rather buff chest. What Neon would refer to as a “beefcake”, he supposed. But Leorio was prone to mood swings too, was just as easy to excite as to deflate, and he was too naïve to be on guard about what he revealed about himself. How he made it through the Hunter Exam like that was a mystery to Kurapika. Determination, most likely. And friends. With that foolish honesty, Leorio was surely someone who made friends easily.

“What is the subject you're studying, Leorio?”

Leorio looked up from his beer, positively unhappy. He hesitated, perhaps he was considering the likelihood of Kurapika turning this answer into an insult as well. “Medical science.”

“You want to become a doctor? Well, I'm sure you can afford more than just two suits when you succeed.” He made no attempt to hide his bitterness. If he hadn't wasted so much time scrambling together the money for the surgery, Pairo would-

“I'm not in it for the money.”

_'Go away.'_ His eyes were burning from lack of sleep.

But facing a topic that was obviously important to him, Leorio regained some of his confidence. “Proper health care shouldn't be a privilege that only the rich can afford. I can make money as a Hunter and invest it in a clinic that works _for free_ and then-”

“Do you even have an idea,” Kurapika interrupted, words as sharp as the blade of his Judgment Chain, “how much money you need to invest in diagnostics alone? Do you know the price of an MRA device? Heart monitors? Even something as simple as a blood pressure gauge?” He was not purposely trying to destroy the bright-eyed ambitions of this young man, but it was hard to breathe around someone so foolishly altruistic, someone who was everything that Kurapika had searched for _years ago_. And if his abrasive behavior made Leorio leave, even better.

He could not afford to let this idiot get involved with his current job.

Leorio did not flinch, did not falter. He tapped gently on the table. “Give me your arm.”

“Why?”

“I'm going to show you something. I know you have a job to do here, but it's not going to take long and I promise it's not something funky.”

Giving in was not a matter of trust, because Kurapika knew that Leorio meant no harm; at the same time it struck him as unwise to let that man get any more under his skin than he already did. Just because his black contacts could hide the glow of his eyes didn't mean he should easily get carried away by his emotions. “One condition. If I tell you to leave this cafe, you will do so. You will not question why and you will head straight home. Can you promise me that?”

“What about the bill?”

Of course he worried about the bill. Of all the possible things to worry about, it was money that Leorio was concerned about. Kurapika let out an annoyed huff and rested his left arm on the table, palm facing upwards. “I pay, don't worry about that.”

Leorio didn't seem to like that one bit, but he did not insist. His forehead creased as he no doubt outweighed his pride with his financial means. Kurapika clenched and unclenched his hand to a fist. “You promised to be quick about this.”

The pride succumbed.

“Right.” Leorio cleared his throat. He reached out hesitantly, letting his index and middle finger trail over the palm gently. He tapped, once, twice, then let his fingertips rest on Kurapika's skin without applying any further pressure. “There's a scar right next to your fingernail that goes fairly deep – kitchen accident?”

“How-?”

“Scar tissue has a different density than the layers of the skin.”

That was the basic principle of palpation, to spot irregularities of the tissue that was examined; however Leorio's fingers had not been near the scar in question. He moved on, rubbing the skin over Kurapika's pulse in slow, circular motions before tapping again. This time, the Kurta minded to use his Gyo. Leorio's aura spread in pulses, rippling like the surface of a pond that had been hit by a raindrop. _'Fascinating.'_ He hadn't felt the emission.

Leorio's frown deepened and he repeated the process on the middle of Kurapika's forearm. “That was broken. Pretty badly. An impact with great force, something blunt. I'm surprised it healed that well, your bones have been pretty much shattered.” Leorio turned the arm carefully, to examine the other side. “Wait, there's no surgery scar. Did you have it healed with Nen?”

“Yes,” Kurapika breathed. “So, a broken bone that healed off naturally and one that was healed with Nen would look the same in an x-ray?” He had not known. He had healed that arm with his own Holy Chain, but it had not occurred to him once that this would leave its marks on him.

“Well, uh, that really depends on the healing technique, I guess? I haven't met many people who specialize in that, but I heard from my teacher that the more restorative a technique is, the longer it takes, and the more aura it consumes, the more requirements you have to meet. It's, um... entropy, that's the word.” Leorio talked with his hands, passion glinting in his eyes as he lost himself in the topic. “You can't just _unbreak_ a bone, the amount of energy you'd need for that must be ridiculously high. So the easiest and quickest way of healing is to tell the body to put itself together, you don't even need to have medical knowledge to pull that off. Because bodies are _amazing,_ there's a fair chance that they know the simplest way to fix themselves back up than you do – clean cuts can be healed without leaving scars because cells communicate with each other all the time, they know where they belong. Now, bones are a little bit more difficult, because-”

The buzzing of a phone interrupted him.

“Sorry, that's mine,” Kurapika said, fishing it out of his pockets. “Hold that thought, don't lose it.”

The screen announced a message from Baise, addressed to all members of the team. It simply read: 'target spotted'.

Kurapika typed up a quick reply to let her know he would be on his way. Reaching her destination would be a matter of minutes; the bar she was observing was in the same part of town as this cafe.

His urge to hurry must have shown on his face because Leorio asked: “So, are you going to kick me out of the cafe now?”

“No, I am called elsewhere.”

“Oh. Well, that's-”

“You were talking about bones,” Kurapika interrupted and got out his wallet, placing a Jenny bill on the table that would ensure generous tips for the waitress, no matter how much Leorio had already ordered before he joined the table. Leorio looked positively _shocked_ and needed a short moment to recollect his thoughts before he continued, but he started to sound slightly absent.

“Right. Bones are different than tissue because they don't consist of cells, they are _made_ by the cells of the bone marrow. In order to fix them up real quick, one needs to speed the natural healing process – are you in a hurry?”

Kurapika was in the process of slipping into his coat and ran a hand through his blond strands. “Yes, I'm sorry.”

Leorio picked up a slightly worn-down suitcase from next to his chair and placed it on the table, letting it snap open. “Can I give you my card? In case you, I don't know, want to continue this conversation later?”

He had no _time_. The rest of the team would take much longer to gather, and Baise had orders not to act without reinforcements. Despite knowing better, a quiet “sure” spilled from his lips. The grip around his phone tightened. Kurapika promised himself that the minute that he wasted here could be caught up by running. It just had to.

He reached for the hastily offered business card, fingers bumping against Leorio's.

“Take care,” Leorio said.

Kurapika's phone came alive with the tunes of _Sakura Kiss_. Every member of the Nostrade family had gotten a ring tone assigned by Neon, this particular one was Baise's. Kurapika felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Have a nice evening,” he blurted out before fleeing the place.

He was barely out of the cafe when he picked up, fearing for the worse.

“What's the matter?”

“It looks like he singled out a victim. Should I interfere?”

So _soon_. “Did he slip something into their drink?”

“No, but he just ordered one for her.”

Kurapika cursed and wished that their target had shown up at Squala's or Basho's location, because there was no way he could tell Baise to just sit down and watch a young woman getting drugged, she would lose all respect for him if he even considered such a thing. (And a part of himself would hate himself for doing this, too, but he was used to it.) Still, if they stepped in too soon, they blew up their best chance to catch that monster.

“Order the same drink that she gets. If he tries to slip her something while she's off to the restroom, follow her and warn her. If he does it while she's just inattentive for a brief moment, go and chat up to her. _Flirt_ with her. Switch your drink with hers if possible. Whatever you do, don't appear interested in _him_. I'm almost there.”

His feet slipped on the brown snow sludge that covered the sidewalk, just like the situation was slipping out of his hands. The business card crumpled up as he clenched his fist and Kurapika crammed it into his pockets almost violently.

 

No matter how often Kurapika returned to the pitch black apartment he shared with Pairo in the middle of the night, he would never get used to Pairo just being there when he turned on the lights. Like an apparition. A poltergeist in pyjamas.

Pairo had his eyes closed and a book in his lap, his fingertip moving over the page. He raised his head, smiling.

“Welcome home. I sent the nurse home already, about an hour ago.” When there was no response, he added sheepishly: “I knew you'd be home late and, and- usually this is the part where you cut me off and tell me how I'm not supposed to do that.”

Kurapika took off his soggy boots. “Guess I'll go easy on you tonight.” He blinked, once, twice, half afraid that he would not be able to open his eyes again if he closed them for too long. It felt like years since he slept.

“Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“There were a few complications, but it was a success,” Kurapika waved off. “No one got hurt. Do you want to go out tomorrow afternoon? Because I gave everyone the day off and if you do, I'm going to organize some bodyguards.”

“Actually, Neon suggested that we could jam after classes.”

“Ah. How nice,” Kurapika replied, aware of how distant he sounded, even to his own ears. “Is there anything else you need? I don't want to urge you to go to bed if you're not tired yet, but I'm not sure how long I can keep myself awake.”

Pairo withdrew his hand from the pages and opened his eyes. “Come here.”

There was no refusing Pairo, who rarely ever asked things for himself. Pairo, who smelled like home was supposed to smell, like sunlight on crisp and clean sheets. Kurapika staggered and came to kneel before the wheelchair, where warm fingers were welcoming him, brushing over his skin, reading about his exhaustion in the lines of his face.

“Something is troubling you.”

After they had lost everything, they made a promise that there would be no secrets between them and although Kurapika usually walked a thin line between leaving out minor details and breaking with that, he had no energy left for the balance act tonight. Try as he might, he could not hide this society's ugly facets from Pairo forever. “I made a miscalculation. Just a small thing that I did not consider... a girl ended up in hospital because I didn't think she was in danger until it was too late.”

“You said no one was injured.”

Soft hands guided his head gently onto Pairo's lap and stroked through his hair. The voice speaking to him held no accusation. Kurapika felt himself drifting away. “She was drugged. He spiked her drink by using Nen. Just like in the Water Divination test. Tomorrow she'll wake up not knowing what happened to her.” And once she was told, she would forever be haunted by the knowledge of what could have happened. He knew it was not his fault that the outside world was so cruel to women, so intent to marginalize and ruin various groups of people, but there had to be a way to break this system, if only he was smarter... “Baise wanted to stay with her,” he added, breathing shallowly. His body felt heavy and his thoughts became blurry around the edges. “I let her because she cared most.”

“That's good. Try to focus on something nice that happened today, no matter how small.” Kurapika was reminded of his mother's saying that those who go to bed upset would spend their dreams haunted.

“I found a boy today. _Met_ a boy. He cared, too. You should've seen him, he was so ridiculous. But he had magical hands.”

“Magical hands?”

“Mmmm.”

“Kurapika? Kurapika!”

Pairo touched his shoulder and Kurapika's head jerked up immediately. “What?”

“You can't fall asleep here. You're still wearing your contact lenses, aren't you? Don't forget to take them out.”

“Right. Sleep. Did you brush your teeth already?”

“Of course I did.”

Kurapika blinked lazily. “Okay. I'll just... good night, Pairo.”

“Good night, Kurapika.” Pairo smiled and pressed his lips on his friend's forehead. “Rest well. You can tell me about the magical boy tomorrow.”

Kurapika stared back with the confused and bewildered look of those not fully awake. “Who?”

But Pairo shook his head and hushed him, laughter pearling from his lips. “Go to bed and don't you dare get up before me.”

 

Kurapika woke calm and refreshed in yesterday's crumpled up clothes, in the very position that he had collapsed on the bed; on his stomach, one arm hanging limply over the edge. The mild winter sun that made the small blond hairs on it shine did little to warm his poor exposed skin, but it made him realize right away that he overslept.

He nearly jumped in his skin and knocked over the alarm clock in an attempt to grab it.

It had been turned off. His oversleeping was not an accident.

Further investigation revealed that the bed in the other room was empty and made – but not very neatly so. On the pillow lay a written note with an apology and the request that he enjoy his lazy morning; the swing of the lines belonging to Neon, although it was signed in Pairo's name.

_'These children_.' He'd have to scold them for that; no matter how kind the intention, that was a mean prank to pull off, not that he expected anything else from Neon, but Pairo... No. Pairo had been known to cheat to achieve a greater good, this was his work, not Neon's. Neon was a picky child; she only cared about the aspects of people that appealed to her nature and interests. Kurapika's sleep deprivation belonged to neither category. And since his rebellious teenager would not return from school for several hours, Kurapika chose to do the best with the time he had been given.

He had just showered and changed into his training suit when the doorbell rang. Baise. Kurapika opened and in she stormed, with the purpose of an empress but the face of a tired madonna. Her pink hair was down; it made her look younger, more vulnerable – which, Kurapika supposed, was exactly the reason why she preferred to have it tied up.

“I didn't expect you back so soon,” Kurapika admitted. “I was thinking about making breakfast, do you want to join me?”

“I'm not here for _breakfast_.” Her chest rose and sunk heavily; she was still angry. Considering she also wore last night's party attire, Kurapika doubted she had taken the time to go home to rest or have a bite. And Baise was a proud woman, too proud to eat out in public when she looked anything less than perfect.

Kurapika beckoned her to follow him into the kitchen, where she sat down at the table. He turned on the stove. “You'll get some anyway. I'm making toast and omelet. Unless you don't eat eggs, in this case it will be just toast for you. How is...” His brain was struggling to find the girl's name. Had he heard it at all? Melody had called the ambulance and Baise–

“Alyssa,” he finished.

–Baise had rummaged through her wallet to look for emergency contacts and any medically relevant information such as a blood donor pass.

“She handled the news quite well after the initial shock. I promised her that the asshole would get a proper punishment. He's still alive, isn't he?”

He tested his Nen like someone would flex his fingers, seeing if they responded. After all, his aura was no less part of him if it had been planted into someone else. He could sense three Judgment Chains, not counting the one he carried in himself – one for Pakunoda, one for the corrupt lawyer that had been in the possession of two pairs of Scarlet Eyes and one for the rapist they had caught last night. If Kurapika focused hard enough, he could reach out to each chain individually, could tell them apart. Since none of them had disappeared, there was no need to.

“He is.”

The oil in the pan started to simmer, so Kurapika turned down the heat.

“Good,” Baise growled, voice low with anger and grim satisfaction. “I hope the Ferrero's make the rest of his pathetic life a living hell.” Rage was a demanding beast, always hungry and impatient to lash out with its sharp claws, but blind on one eye. He wondered if Baise even realized that the sum that the Ferrero family was willing to pay for this man's head could only mean that one of his victim's had belonged to them.

Kurapika would not speak of this in order to not disturb her small triumph and busied himself with cracking eggs in a bowl. He did not need to turn around to know that her expression was a replica of the one he wore like a battle mask when facing the Phantom troupe. Rage was not quiet. Rage was stubborn and hard to tame, which made it one of the most exposing emotions. Kurapika was guilty of never trying to domesticate it when he had made sure to wash out the passion of every other aspect of his emotional spectrum. Restraint was the essence of good, reasonable behavior, it was the gray filter you could put over all the vibrant colors you didn't want anyone else to see – only the scarlet of rage was bright enough to burn through it.

He preferred it that way. Nothing good ever came from carrying your heart on your sleeve, not in a world that was so intent on holding your very self against you.

Kurapika poured the mixed egg whites and yolk into the pans, where the mixture sizzled softly. Baise cleared her throat. “If you intend to punish me for my insubordinate behavior, you'd better tell me now, because I hate it when people beat around the bush.”

“What makes you think I'm going to reprimand you?”

“I've never seen you cook for any of us before.”

“You never showed up hungry on our doorstep before.” Kurapika rummaged in the cupboards for seasoning, standing on his tiptoes and stretching. “There is a saying in Kurtish, that would translate to 'Do not let those who turn to you leave with any need'. Pairo thinks it most important that we don't let our traditions wither.”

“You're an odd little brat, you know that?”

Kurapika found himself smiling at the backwards kind of respect hidden in those harsh words and responded in kind. “If you spent less time riling Squala up and more with talking to him, you'd know that I cook for guests all the time.”

She huffed. “I like him better as a dog.”

“You need to work on your lies, I don't even have to see your eyes to know that that's not true.”

“And when did you turn into Melody, hm? Haven't you ever heard that it's rude to point out the lies of a woman?”

“You can't expect me to know all of your convoluted gender etiquette.”

Baise propped her chin on her hand and turned up the corner of her mouth in a lopsided frown. “Fair enough.” Not that her complaint had been serious. As one of the more radical feminists he had encountered, Baise considered it an insult if she was treated in any way different due to her womanhood, deeply resenting any kind of chauvinism even if it benefited her. The reason why she was so content with him as an employer was, to quote 'you're not exactly a boy, so maybe you're not as incompetent'. (The phrasing made Kurapika slightly uncomfortable at first, but he quickly realized that Baise had just chosen an unfortunate way of expressing her acceptance of his gender alignment.) They got along, that was what mattered. Baise was far from being easy to handle, but on his worse days, neither was he. He avoided ruffling her feathers the wrong way and she repaid it by being a reliable team member and holding back her sharp tongue around Pairo.

They had breakfast in silence, because neither had any desire to continue talking about work and their relationship did not extend to a more private terrain. So when Baise expressed the desire to go home and take a shower, she politely declined Kurapika's offer to use his. She left his apartment just like she had entered, with an unapologetic vehemence in her step. As the echo of her clicking heels passed, Kurapika fumbled through the insides of his coat's pockets, drawing out a piece of paper.

He contemplated throwing the business card away.

He was a Blacklist Hunter. And a member of the mafia. He couldn't just go around as he pleased and have coffee and cake with rabbit-eyed medical students while engaging in scientific discussions about Nen.

Kurapika smoothed out the crumpled up sheet. Throwing it away meant that the time he had taken to obtain it, time he could not afford to give, had been in vain. Calling Leorio's number was out of the question, too, so the least Kurapika could do was to keep it with the promise of doing some research on his own, to further educate himself on the mechanics of healing Nen.

He didn't need Leorio Paladiknight.

 

Roughly five hours of research later, he was proven wrong.

* * *

Leorio would like to claim that he had the faintest idea what would expect him inside the folder that Kurapika handed him, but that would be about as true as saying that he didn't dress like a father of two with an office job. The prints of scientific publications that had been left for Leorio in the library focused on alternatives for plastic surgery – how to burn fat, how to smooth wrinkles, even treating second degree burns by sending pulses of aura into specific body tissues. And while plastic surgery, especially the reconstructive application of it, had its own appeal, he couldn't imagine Kurapika being interested in it. Of course, Leorio didn't know Kurapika well enough to judge his, –to judge _their_ character, but if he considered how bitter the blond had been about the price of _necessary_ medical treatments...

“You're free to read it, you know,” Kurapika offered, voice laced with just the merest hint of impatience.

Leorio opened the brick red office binder and bit back any remark that would have stumbled out of his mouth otherwise. Copies of a medical file greeted him. The name of the patient had been blackened out, and someone had scribbled a little note into the column with the sex (male), which read 'gender: male' and that didn't match with the rest of the handwriting on the page, but those were the only alterations Leorio could see.

He skimmed the pages, including one x-ray scan of legs that showed no sign of trauma, a few ophthalmologic reports, more x-rays of the spine, showing a growing proliferation at the dorsal vertebra – he found himself at the end of the file sooner than he expected. “That's all? The whole thing?”

“Yes,” Kurapika confirmed.

“No vaccinations as a child, no asthma, not even a fever? The first report is from when the patient was ten?”

“That's correct. He grew up in a small community without access to technology. Any kind of medicine was of herbal nature. But that's not relevant. We're not asking you for a diagnosis.”

“No, you're not,” Leorio agreed thoughtfully. The respective doctors had gathered data aplenty for their diagnosis. He tapped on a part of the paper that bothered him. “When did the symptoms manifest for the first time? The file isn't very specific about that.”

“He fell.”

For the first time, Kurapika's voice softened and wavered as they continued: “He fell off a cliff while playing. It wasn't very high, but-” They cleared their throat and clenched their fist and Leorio realized that this wasn't just a job – it was personal. He didn't press on, let Kurapika sort their thoughts and pick out neat little words that were more formal and polished and probably hurt less.

Leorio pretended not to see how Melody reached over and patted Kurapika's chained hand softly.

“The fall happened about seven months before the first appointment. Pairo complained about nothing out of the ordinary – a scraped knee, bruised shins and his eyes stung because he got dirt in them. His condition improved in the next few days... and then got worse. He had eye drops, but they only slowed down the process, they provided no cure. So the logical choice was to find a doctor. And gather enough money to pay the fee for a first visit.”

_'It all boils down to money in the end,'_ Leorio thought. He knew this, damn, he'd _been there_ , had grown up with the coppery aftertaste of frustration on his tongue because making money was only easy if you _had_ money. He wasn't sure if Kurapika would respond kindly to his sympathy, though.

“You will find,” Kurapika went on, “that there is a significant delay between the diagnosis and the treatment because of that. Pairo's eyes required immediate medical attention, yet by the time I had earned enough money to afford the serum, the fungal infection had already spread onto his optic nerve. Injecting a fungicide only led to a partial recovery of his eye sight. What's the matter?”

Leorio was aware that he must be staring, very dumbly, at the other. He couldn't help it, nor could he help the “You paid?” that burst out of him. He had tried to suppress the stupid question because interrupting people was a rude and unprofessional thing to do during business conversations, but as soon as Kurapika had prodded... “I mean, I'm sorry, I – _you_ paid? What about his parents?”

The blond shrouded their face in shadows, shaping it into something harsh and grim. Not a flicker of light could be seen in their black eyes. “They passed away. I promised to take care of Pairo and I did, so all medical decisions were made by me.”

“But surely he had other relatives-”

Melody gasped, just a second before a wave of anger hit Leorio and washed over him, the pressure of it squeezing his lungs hard. He switched into a state of Ten to be able to breathe again, but even then it was like weighing himself against a storm. His skin prickled and Kurapika's voice rolled like thunder: “They all died. I am all that is left of his family. You will not question this and I am not going to repeat myself.”

“Kurapika, stop it,” Melody shrieked, “Stop this at _once_.”

They blinked, as if snapping out of a trance and turned to her slowly. Steadily, the air grew lighter. “I'm sorry.”

“We could have been found. You're putting everyone at risk.”

“I don't know what got into me,” Kurapika apologized. Melody was quivering, trying to keep a stern expression. _'Yes you do,'_ her face seemed to say, or maybe: _'You're not off the hook yet.'_ Leorio had never expected defiance from someone as small as her. It was impressing as hell.

Kurapika shrunk in their seat, and let out a soft sigh. They let their head rest against the window. “I probably owe you an apology too, Leorio. I usually make a point of not getting overwhelmed by my moods-”

“That's an understatement,” Melody interjected. Like the air, her voice had regained some of its lightness.

“-what I'm trying to say is that it was unprofessional of me to snap at you.” Leorio could not have possibly known how delicate a subject he had just breached, nor how much Kurapika had been on edge all day because their dysphoria really had the worst timing. Leorio didn't even know what gender dysphoria was; he knew about trans people in exclusively binary terms and at no point in his life had he been encouraged to educate himself on this matter. Even now his interest lay more in the type of Nen he had just encountered. None of his lessons so far had prepared him for this.

“Uh- no, it's fine, I guess? I mean, I'm not exactly sure what just happened, so...”

Kurapika and Melody exchanged a look.

“Do you know what En is? Or Ko?”

“...no? My Nen teacher pretty much patted me on the back and left once I had the basics down. Haven't even gotten so much as a card from her since then.”

“I can teach you, if you want. Consider it compensation. Talking about Nen... when we first met, you said that most healing techniques rely on the body's own restorative properties. In other words, they belong to the enhancement category. That means it's ineffective for injuries that the body could not heal by itself over times, am I right?”

“Yeah. This is about the eyes, right? Most nerve cells can grow back together if they're cut through clean, but even if that's true for the optical nerve cells, you said they'd been damaged by a fungus, so–”, Leorio stopped himself, as he realized that what he said was probably the opposite of what Kurapika wanted to hear. Would they kick him out of the car if he failed to live up to the hopes they had for him? Surely they knew that he was no miracle worker?

“Don't stress yourself. I expected this answer. Pairo's eyesight has not improved the last five years, so it's not like there was much hope. I wanted a second opinion anyway.” Kurapika leaned forward, flipping through the pages of the file until the x-rays were displayed. Leorio couldn't help to notice that their hair emitted a rich floral scent with a hint of dark berries. Was that shampoo or perfume? Either way, he had to hold his breath because the smell of it was doing things to his brain.

“Although the infection was a result from the fall, it turned out that Pairo's legs had really been unharmed; the increasing paralysis was caused by a benign tumor. It was a mere coincidence that the symptoms began at the same time. Of course, the surgery to remove the tumor was even more costly than the serum for his eyes, so all I could do was to have the growth checked in regular intervals while I took the Hunter Exam. By the time I started learning about Nen, Pairo already needed a wheelchair. He still needs it, even after the surgery, because his legs are too weak to support his body.”

“Because his muscles atrophied,” Leorio concluded, his voice thin. Muscles that were not used degenerated after a while, a common problem for coma patients also. “Couldn't you have signed up your friend for physiotherapy?”

Their eyes locked and for a few seconds, Kurapika said nothing.

“I'm a Blacklist Hunter, Leorio. I'm currently employed as the head bodyguard of a very influential person, but I already made my fair share of enemies, so no, I can't just sign in Pairo for therapy. It wouldn't be safe. That's why I need you.”

He swallowed hard. “Your idea is to use my Nen to help him build up muscle mass faster.”

“Yes.” It comes out half a whisper and half a hiss and fully desperate. Kurapika hopes so much – they try not to, for hoping is such an unreliable thing, like all feelings that grow from love. Hope does not care about the frailness of success; it is tough and thrives in the unlikely soil of scarce possibilities.

“But I'm not there yet. Don't get me wrong, I'll try to do my best, but first I have to learn how to send my aura into specific parts of the body because I can't differentiate yet. It's just this bundle of information that echoes back at almost the same time and once I have that down, I need to figure out how to-”

Kurapika took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Leorio. You have the potential, that's why you're here. All I'm asking you is to let me help you shape your Nen. It's a selfish request, and it can't be done without you wanting to. So if you say you're willing to try, that's more than enough.”

In the closed space of the car, something strange happened. Something wild and private, not meant to be witnessed, but Melody witnessed it all the same. She looked away and hiccuped once, utterly embarrassed.

Leorio, who had never before in his life been told that he was _enough_ , could not possibly hear the way in which Kurapika's heart sang out, yet his own joined in. For a moment they beat in perfect unison a rhythm of violent hope.

 


	4. Family Is a Transitive Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which nothing is ever simple and Kurapika is struggling for words at last. A little charade unfolds to welcome Leorio in this mismatched family.

_Some get dealt simple hands_

_Some walk the common paths, all nice and worn_

_But all folks are damaged goods_

_It ain't a talk of "if," just one of "when" and "how"_

Radical Face, “The Crooked Kind”

* * *

The power shift in the Nostrade family had been sudden, like an avalanche, and caused by two incidents. The first one was the theft of Neon Nostrade's Nen ability, robbing the family of its main source of income, and her father, Light Nostrade, suddenly saw himself eye to eye with his worst nightmare. His psyche was plagued with paranoia and existential fears, he felt himself being crushed by the debts that were yet to come, which eventually led to the second incident: a nervous breakdown that rendered the mafioso unable to make any decisions, because any thought of his current financial situation immediately lead to panic attacks. Quietly and quickly, a therapist was added to the monthly expenses, and all the responsibility, the accountancy, and the decision making, was placed upon the shoulders of the single person that had proven to be competent enough: Kurapika.

The very same Kurapika who had just escaped the net of the Spiders, and who had joined the Nostrade family in order to use it for their own benefit, rather than being used by it. In their eyes, the term 'family' was rather misleading, considering that the little mafia clan was held together by business rather than blood ties.

But the Nostrade family trusted them. And they would protect Pairo if Kurapika asked them to, so the Kurta had no choice but to protect them as well. From the shadows, they began reshaping the family's business, starting with the most critical factor.

Neon.

When Kurapika entered her room to explain to her that her account would be frozen for quite some time – the time it took her to learn how to spend money _reasonably_ – they knew they would win the argument that this would spark. Because arguments obeyed a simple rule: those who cared most lose.

Did they care about her? Yes, and that was why they could be patient with her. Neon cared about them too, but more than that, Neon cared about Pairo, and about having nice things, pretty things, things she thought she deserved. Neon didn't know how to win an argument by reasoning, what she knew best was how to be stubborn.

She howled and threw her body on the floor, screaming about the _injustice_ , the _cruelty_. Kurapika watched her tantrum calmly, waiting for her to cease the dramatic wailing because it was so much easier to talk then.

“Is this supposed to make me take you seriously? You're acting like a child. You want to keep your collection? You want to go shopping again? Then learn to fight for it. Your father left it up to me to continue his business; your chance to have a say in this is now.”

They _were_ cruel, in the right amount. Kurapika confronted her with the numbers, told her about the money her father had earned with her and how they would have to cut expenses that would equal that sum. (Pairo did his part too, by encouraging Neon to try her hand at new hobbies. Poetry, songwriting, embroidery... it was a good time for a new start, he assured her.)

The following week was spent with selling things. Estates of the Nostrade family that were almost never used, and came with high maintenance costs, found new owners once Neon had given her approval. They went through the buildings together, retrieving all items of emotional value, and saving confidential documents. That was how they found out about the Andromache.

The Andromache was a pretty dream that lay dormant, a skyscraper hotel that rose not far from the Hunter Association's headquarters. So far it was just an empty hull without a purpose; the project had been halted a few months before the Yorknew City auction, probably to save money. Needless to say, the last thing that the Nostrade family needed was the insecurity of the hotel business. But they could use a safe home.

Neon did get to do her shopping in the end, although it involved a lot of planning, and the items in question were exclusively furniture. They turned the Andromache into a luxury apartment block, made sure to include a tight security system, and vouched for the building by moving into two of the apartments themselves. They charged a reasonably high rent, but offered a free upgrade for disabled tenants to have their suite refurbished to their needs. By the time Kurapika met Leorio, only a few of the apartments were still available for rent, and 80% of the Andromache's tenants were older Hunters, assuring a steady influx of money.

This was the daily business; at night Kurapika encouraged his coworkers to take out the mafia's trash. They didn't exactly do vengeance crimes, since no laws were broken (none that mattered, anyway), they merely hunted those who had done the community harm and delivered them to the family they had pissed off. Nice and easy. Well, truth be told, their line of work was neither, but in addition to the salaries for this special hunt, the job served to maintain their good relationship with the other families, and sometimes they even got a nice little souvenir for Neon as a present – or a hint on where to find another pair of scarlet eyes.

Kurapika could not complain, they had made the best out of the situation they had been given, and on good days they were neither proud nor ashamed of what they personally had achieved. On bad days they were both. The life they lived was not suited for everyone, (in fact it was still up for debate if it was that suited for Kurapika themselves,) so if they had a say in it, they tried to avoid imposing it on more kind-hearted people.

People like Leorio Paladiknight. However, there was no keeping Leorio out of it if he was needed that badly; all Kurapika could do was keep him as safe as possible. Keep it professional and distant.

* * *

 

They parted with Melody in the underground parking lot, much to Leorio's disappointment. He didn't feel ready to be alone with Kurapika yet; their mood might have improved, but what if his big mouth made them angry again?

Kurapika led him past rows and rows of identical shiny cars to a dark metal door that was perfectly smooth and lacked handle and keyhole. In fact, the only hint that this was indeed a door was the word STAIRS that had been painted on it. Kurapika pressed their palm where the lock should have been and let their aura flare up. A metallic clang could be heard and the door gave way. “This entrance is for tenants and their guests. As you can see, it was designed to open for people who can use Nen. The front entrance is only ever used by delivery staff, so if you intent to come here on your own, you better use this way too. Either way, you have to announce your presence to the porter. But we can pick you up for appointments, if you prefer.”

Kurapika beckoned him to go ahead and let the door snick shut behind them. The flight of stairs led to a hall of dark marble, with a high, slightly arched roof and golden stucco ornaments. The glass panes of the front entrance were at the exact opposite end. To the right, a crimson red dais marked the reception, to the left there was an unremarkable white door set into an equally white wall so neatly that one would miss it, were it not for the steel handle that stood off awkwardly.

The porter appeared unremarkable also: a middle aged woman with a round face and bob cut salt-and-pepper hair. Her black uniform was tailored to flatter her pear-shaped body, one more detail about this place that yelled 'money'. She was reading a magazine as Leorio and Kurapika entered.

“Yo,” she said looking up and Kurapika nodded in greeting. In a rather gossipy manner, she added: “I heard the Green Wind has swept away yet another child.”

_'What.'_ Leorio thought.

“And her laughter roared louder than the Leopard of Little Breezes,” Kurapika replied.

_'What?'_ , Leorio thought again, increasingly perplex.

The lady let out a satisfied little snort. “Who's the new face?”

“Shutter, this is Leorio. He'll come around quite often. I'd like you to register him as a guest. Apartment 44b.”

Shutter conjured a bright yellow Polaroid camera and a leather-bound album, the latter hovered mid-air, opening and moving pages on its own accord. “Keys?”

“Not required, I'll bring him up myself.”

“Alright. Smile, handsome.”

Leorio didn't think that she was addressing him all of a sudden until the flash blinded him. With a whirr, the camera spit out a black picture. Shutter started shaking it. “Aaaand done. You're free to go as you please.”

“Wait, can we try that again, I'm sure I blinked.”

But Kurapika had already grabbed his elbow and was dragging him onward, assuring that there was no need to. Shutter's chortled laughter as she looked at the final result begged to differ, but it seemed that Kurapika had no mind for Leorio's fragile ego. Or perhaps they were too photogenic to emphasize, Leorio wouldn't put it past them either. Through the white door they went, entering a homely tea lounge that seemed a bit misplaced in an apartment building, nor did it seem much used; a trio of elderly men were playing Mau-Mau [2] while smoking a hookah pipe, and in a dark corner by the bar sat a woman in a gray pantsuit and a fuchsia top that revealed a seductive amount of cleavage, much in contrast to the casual bun that throned on her head. On the table before her stood two glasses of water.

She spied them and checked her wrist watch. “You're very early,” she remarked as Kurapika invited Leorio to sit down, doing so themselves.

“You can thank Leorio for that; he decided to be as punctual as a quartz clock. Leorio, this is Baise, another one of my coworkers.” They said hi. Baise seemed bored, like the porter had seemed bored. Well, maybe not quite the same, because while the porter had cheered up once she had something to do, Baise remained unimpressed as she plucked two leaves from the chamomile plant that served as table decoration. She laid the leaves on the water surface, one for each glass, and leaned back. It was obvious where this was going, but Leorio still waited for Kurapika to reach out first. Hands shielding the glasses, they switched into Ren simultaneously.

Leorio didn't look to the side, he willed himself not to because it would only ruin his concentration. _This is not a competition_ , he encouraged himself. Yet the water in his glass had developed only a hint of color by the time Kurapika finished the water divination test. Leorio _urged_ a little more, for seconds that stretched painfully.

Gradually, the water turned aquamarine.

“Good,” Kurapika said. They picked up the glasses – theirs had all clogged up with something crystalline – and stood up. “I guess that settles it. The perfume, Baise.”

While Kurapika slipped behind the bar to dispose of the water, Baise pulled a tiny flask out of her cleavage. Leorio was too surprised to not stare, which earned him a nasty sneer from her as she dabbed the clear liquid on his pulse. He spread it by rubbing one wrist over the other and scrunched up his face as soon as he caught the first whiff of the scent. Sweet and heavy, with a note of sandalwood, insultingly pungent. The kind of perfume that would surround people like miasma which choked everyone unlucky enough to walk into its cloud. “Was that really necessary?”

“It's for the dogs,” Baise said and then, turning to Kurapika: “I'm going to text Squala that you're coming.”

_'What dogs?'_

 

The _dogs_.

When Kurapika unlocked the door to the apartment, they just spilled out like a flood of fur, bringing Leorio down. Small dogs and huge dogs, short-haired ones and incredibly fluffy ones, smelly ones; all of them pressing their wet noses against his skin. They were a squirming mass on top of him, sniffing, wheezing, yelping.

This was how he was going to die. Getting suffocated by dogs.

Leorio resigned to his fate and just let it happen. He tried not to cry out when one stepped over his crotch.

“Are you alright?”, Kurapika asked.

The answer was a muffled no.

“Don't worry, they're just learning your scent. The perfume we applied on you tells them you're a friend.” They bent down to pat his leg affirmatively. “They'll get tired sooner or later.”

“How about a helping hand, eh?!”, Leorio yelled.

Kurapika smirked. Leorio couldn't see it (he didn't dare open his eyes since something wet and rough lapped at them) but he could hear it alright when they replied: “I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that.”

“Liar!”

“Will he be okay?”, a third voice joined in. Deep, smooth, most likely male and approaching. “Whoa now.”

“They're a bit hyper, aren't they?”, Kurapika asked.

A whistle cut through the air and the stampede of paws discarded. Leorio breathed a bit easier. When he opened his eyes, he saw Jesus. Granted, Jesus was a bit darker than the statues he remembered from his childhood, but the hair was right, falling down to the shoulders in dark waves-

“They can smell that he's not here with any mean intent, that's why they're so happy. They think he's here to play,” Jesus said and then fixed his black eyes on Leorio. “Sorry 'bout that. They've been inside for a bit too long. I'm Squala.”

Well. Not quite Jesus then. Leorio still took his hand a bit shyly and let himself be pulled to his feet, only remembering seconds later that he was a grown man and should be able to get up on his own. Deflated, he mumbled his introduction. He was bad at this first impression thing. Really bad.

While the medical student was busy brushing dog hair off his suit, Kurapika suggested that Squala should take the dogs for a walk, which was retorted with an ominous “but what about-” and subtle head jerking towards the door of apartment 44a.

“Isn't Basho with her?”

“He was. And then she declared that she didn't want to see anyone and sent him home. Eliza too. She accepted two of the dogs as her guard but only under the condition that I tell you how much she is through with you and that she'll never speak with you again.”

“Noted,” Kurapika said, sounding not at all like a person who was met with a terrible fate. “I'm going to ignore that you all let yourselves be bossed around by her far too easily-” Squala looked like he was going to say something, yet thought better of it, “but try to convince her to join you on your walk. A bit of fresh air and the possibility to rant will do wonders for her mood.”

“Are you sure?”

Kurapika crossed their arms and their voice turned soft as they said: “Girl's aren't meant to be locked up any more than dogs are, Squala. She needs some freedom.”

Squala nodded and went to knock on the other apartment door. Kurapika ushered Leorio inside.

The place was _huge_. And sparsely furnished, but far from empty – the spacious way that the furniture was arranged struck Leorio as incredibly decadent, until he remembered that there was a fair reason for it: they needed to maneuver a wheelchair through the space on a daily basis. However, that didn't quite explain why the floor was marked with a strange, whitish tape all around the furniture pieces. It reminded Leorio oddly of a crime scene, except the corpses were sofas and tables and the police had not yet bothered to move them.

Kurapika slipped out of their shoes and called out. “Pairo, I'm home. I brought a guest.”

“I'm in the kitchen”, a voice echoed back. Shortly after, a melodic clicking and clacking could be heard, followed by a chime – a typewriter's telltale song. Leorio couldn't remember the last time he had seen someone use one; his mother still owned a model that was as old as herself, and she took good care of it, but he had never seen her type anything. (Leorio pictured her polishing the metal curves and proudly patting the machine, declaring that it had done her great service back in the day before computers had completely changed bureaucracy. He had found it hard to imagine her working at an office then. It would still take a few years for him to fully grasp that the typewriter had been used to _forge_ documents.)

Leorio left his shoes by the wardrobe and followed Kurapika, followed the sounds.

At the first glimpse, Pairo looked like a regular teenager as he sat by the kitchen table, engrossed in whatever he was typing up. Granted, his mushroom-head haircut was a bit old-fashioned. And the red sweater he wore had a golden mosaic pattern on it that simply struck as odd, but what Leorio tried to pay attention to were his eyes. Maroon eyes set in a kind face – a _good_ face, round-cheeked like a putto – they held a warm and gentle greeting when Kurapika approached and seemed to follow the blond's movement without a problem. Pairo stopped typing, pulled out the sheet and put it on a stack next to the typewriter. From a distance the yellowish paper seemed blank.

“Homework?”, Kurapika wanted to know, draping their arm over Pairo's shoulder with an ease that came from habit, from years of friendship or familiarity.

“We have to write an essay about the anatomy of short stories by an author of our choice. I'm still preparing notes for the first draft. Are you going to introduce me to the looming shadow in our doorway?”

For the first time, Leorio heard Kurapika laugh. It was a small, stifled sound, but a happy one. No hidden sarcasm. Maybe a hint of mischief in the wrinkles around their mouth. “Don't worry, he's not menacing at all, just a bit tall. And still a bit shaken from the dogs, I reckon. Pairo, this is Leorio Paladiknight. Leorio, this is my cousin Pairo.”

“Paladiknight?”, Pairo repeated as he offered his hand, “The one from the card? The one with the...” and then he used words that Leorio never heard before. It wasn't until Kurapika pinched Pairo's ear and replied in the same tone that he noticed that both had switched to a completely different language.

“Wow, you're really, _really_ tall”, Pairo whistled as Leorio finally came around to shake his hand. “I had trouble seeing it, because, well, I've got a little trouble seeing.”

“Yeah, Kurapika mentioned that.”

Pairo's smile became strained and his grip tightened. “Really?” He let go. “Kurapika told me how you met, but he forgot to tell me what you do. What's your profession, Leorio?”

Kurapika decided to busy themselves with picking up a kettle from the stove and filling it with water.

“I'm a student, actually.”

“Nice. Linguistics? History? Law, perhaps?” The boy sounded a bit too eager.

“No, I'm trying to become a doctor.”

“Of course you are.” Pairo drew in his breath until his lungs strained and all but sighed at Kurapika. “You're impossible, I hope you know that.”

“I have no idea what you're aiming at, you never had a problem with me introducing you to a doctor. Leorio, do you want to drink something? Coffee, tea, water?”

“I'm good,” he said and meant _'I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already am'_ since it appeared that his mere presence stirred up an old argument.

“I have no issue with _that_. But just for once you could try bringing over a guest for yourself, you know.”

“Leorio _is_ my guest, just as much as yours,” Kurapika pointed out indignantly as they put the kettle on the stove. “He's going to take some Nen lessons from me, so don't be rude.”

“I'm _not_. Or am I rude, Leorio?” Pairo focused on him expectantly, which did nothing to make the situation less surreal. But he at least made an effort to sound cheerful.

Leorio decided he could like this kid. “Nah, it's fine.”

Kurapika sighed.

(Had he said something wrong? Was there even a right answer to this question?)

“If you're learning Nen, does that mean you're a Hunter too?”, Pairo demanded to know.

“I am! I passed the Hunter Exam last year, although I'm not really doing much work as a Hunter right now. I needed the License to afford enrolling in universities.”

“That's really impressive.”

“N-not really. I had help from friends. Without them, I probably wouldn't have made it at first try.”

The kettle whistled. Kurapika poured the steaming hot water in a porcelain jug and added a tea infuser, a little metal ball on a chain. They spoke up quietly, somberly: “Statistically, a rookie passes the exam only once every three years. Help or no; that is an achievement to be proud of. Just to state some facts.”

“Really? I had no idea.” Leorio also had no idea that Kurapika was indeed capable of saying something nice without hiding it behind an insult.

“Kurapika passed at the first attempt, too,” Pairo offered, a little smugly.

“Of course I did. I couldn't afford to waste an entire year just to retake the exam.”

Leorio could only marvel at the amount of granted pride that emanated from these words. He'd been taught to be confident in the skills he had, and to be modest about the things he tried to achieve, but Kurapika... Kurapika appeared to have no need for modesty. Well, he had considered Kurapika an arrogant little shit the moment he met them... it was just one of those traits that would be easily overlooked when the person in question was very handsome. It could also be held in Kurapika's favor that they made a good conversation partner, as soon as one got past the attitude. They had to be knowledgeable, considering the position they were in – head bodyguard they had said. Kurapika could be barely more than eighteen years old and had already worked their way up to a position of responsibility. They had to have skills to match their employer's trust. They had to be dangerous if they worked as a Blacklist Hunter, a line of work that brought all the danger of a Bounty Hunter's life, but without the financial compensation.

Leorio tried to align these facts he knew about Kurapika with the small person standing in front of him. They certainly didn't look dangerous, not when they were all slender limbs and elegant nonchalance... but there was something to be said about flowers that bloom on dangerous grounds or something. You could never tell how deadly a plant was just by looking at it either.

Leorio's thoughts were interrupted when Pairo pulled on his sleeve to get his attention.

“Can you tell me a bit about the different stages of the Hunter Exam you went through? Kurapika said that once my legs have healed, he's going to let me take the exam.”

“He?”, Leorio asked and felt two pairs of dark eyes on him. _Great._ He had tried his best not to fuck up the pronoun thing, but it appeared that he, well, fucked up the pronoun thing. “I mean, I could've sworn Melody kept on referring to Kurapika with 'they' pronouns, so I thought... was that wrong?”

Pairo said: “She always does,” but was interrupted by Kurapika. “He's right, though. It's 'they' today.”

Pairo acknowledged this with a simple “Oh, okay” which... didn't help to sort out Leorio's confusion. At all. Part of it must have shown on his face, because Kurapika kept on looking at him funny – not upset or annoyed, but with their brows furrowed in slight irritation. “I'm sorry, I should have let you know sooner. I'm usually fine with both he and they.”

That much Leorio had picked up by now. What he didn't get was _why_ ; and if it hadn't been for that one agender kid in his toxicology class he wouldn't know that people used 'they' to refer to themselves either. (He wasn't close enough with that classmate to randomly chat about the... the _community_ stuff, though. It was like a dialogue option that one needed to unlock and Leorio wasn't sure if he could present the right qualifications to do that and it was not like he could just approach people saying 'hi, you don't have some time to spare to explain a few things to a fellow queer kid, do you?')

“You still don't understand.”

“Sorry.”

“I'm-” Kurapika started and their body urged slightly forward, but they stopped, trying to pluck words out of the air that wouldn't come. They tapped their foot on the laminate, impatient with themselves. “I'm not sure if I'm the right person to explain these matters in general, see, Pairo and I come from a rather different cultural background, and I know there is this whole spectrum of gender alignments and a variety of labels that people can choose to identify with, and as far as I understood this, the need for these labels was born from the strict binary that your society dictates. I'm not used to this, I didn't grow up in this weird and heavily gendered environment and-”

“Kurapika, can you... can you use less complicated words?”

“I'm not making sense to you.” Kurapika's face fell and Leorio was kind of upset at himself for being so stupid. He wasn't a hopeless case and he could prove it, if only they could break it down to smaller parts.

“Just give me the version for dummies, okay?”

“Let's say I was comfortable being a boy when I grew up. That's because for me being a boy meant something entirely different than it might have for you, it's like when one tries to translate a word into another language, except that in the process, all the implications that the original word contained get lost. When a child was born into our clan, our community, it was assigned a gendered term like the ones you're familiar with, except we had a third term for the- the- Pairo, what was the word for it?”

“Intersex.”

“Yes, that one. Whether you were a 'boy' or 'girl' or 'intersex' didn't play a big part, all things considered. We didn't have 'girl clothes' and 'boy clothes', we didn't even have a word for gender. Every child had to learn how to sew and cook and how to farm before we were considered of age, without being ever encouraged to live up to an ideal of femininity or masculinity. Was that clearer?”

“Yeah.” The word came out small and rough. He was rather certain now that it had been Kurapika who added the little remark in Pairo's medical file. Leorio hadn't considered gender as something medically relevant (in fact, maybe it was time to reconsider. It certainly had an impact on the mental health of a person. So he still felt very stupid, but in a good way. Had a better idea where to start doing research on the matter. He was sure, if he learned more about people's gender woes, it would help him be a better doctor in the long run.)

“Compared to that, being referred to as a boy is so irritating because it comes with all these expectations. The idea of masculinity that this society enforces is restricting, sometimes downright suffocating and, well, _wrong_. I can't stand it. And I can't always stand being alienated and mocked for not fitting into this metaphorical corset that they're trying to stuff me in. My case is certainly different from the struggles that other trans folks experience, I'm not even sure if I the term trans applies to me in the first place, so I'm hesitant about labels. What I do know is that being addressed with gender neutral pronouns makes me feel so much better. I don't expect you to relate – you probably can't, but as long as you respect that, as long as you respect my pronouns, we won't get any problems with each other.”

“That's the last thing I want,” Leorio was quick to assure, and realized halfway that this could be read two ways. “I mean I won't want trouble with you. I'm not going to be an ass about your pronouns, I promise.”

“Well, great,” a voice piped up and Leorio's heart did a little leap. He had forgotten about Pairo. “You won't like Kurapika when they're angry.”

“Really? What are you like when you're angry?”

Leorio could catch a glimpse of Kurapika's face twisting up before the blond turned away. They bent over their tea, fishing out the infuser. “I think it's time for us to focus on Pairo, now. I can imagine you want to start with the examination.”

 

Kurapika was in the bathroom when Squala called, dowsing their hands in warm water because the sensation helped a little to stop them from shaking. The conjured chains had disappeared, the nervous pink blush on their cheeks however had not. _'This isn't like you, to get sick with anxiety,'_ they kept chiding themselves. It was Pairo's fault for needling. And it was Kurapika's fault for spilling out their thoughts like that, because by doing so, they had given Leorio a tool to make them thoroughly uncomfortable.

Kurapika groaned and rubbed their eyes.

They were contemplating whether or not to take the contacts out, when their mobile phone started to blast _Jai Ho_.

Fingers were sloppily dried up before picking up. It turned out a small matter; Squala let them know that after their little walk with the dogs, Neon had asked to go to get some ice cream – which would bring them home later than expected, probably not before the end of Squala's shift. Kurapika was fine with that. Ice cream in winter, pie at midnight – those were just regular teenage cravings, perfectly harmless ways for Neon to spoil herself. Whether she deserved it or not was not a question Kurapika concerned themselves with; in fact they were quite happy that the girl had come to appreciate the small things in life.

With this settled, Kurapika drained the sink and decided to look after their guest.

Kurapika had moved Pairo to the couch before excusing themselves, so it was not much of a surprise to find him still there, listening to Leorio who sat on the floor right before the brunet, examining a leg by poking different areas of the skin with a blunt needle. Every prick was followed by a quiet, unimpressed 'ow' from Pairo. Kurapika slipped in quietly, sitting down next to their friend.

“-the wetlands were the absolute worst, fog so thick that you could barely make out the person running before or next to you, much less the examiner that you were supposed to follow, and everything in that damn swamp was out to trick and eat you! There were these giant frogs that dig themselves in the ground like flounders and who would just swallow you alive if you stepped on them, and turtles with strawberries growing on their backs, birds that imitate speech... I hope they don't use that place as an exam stage for the next hundred years or so. The worst part was, I got separated from my friends and had only this tiny archer boy, Pokkle was his name, as company and we, like, tumbled headfirst into a fight between this really creepy magician and a bunch of guys who were out to kill him. The story about this magician is that he attended the exam the previous year, but got disqualified for killing an examiner. So, dunno, his attackers were probably out to take revenge.”

“What was the magician's name?”, Kurapika asked in a breath between sentences – once you got Leorio to talk about something, he was hard to stop, growing more and more secure in his expressions with every word. It certainly helped that Pairo for once had no intention to interrupt or tease; his maroon eyes were somber and focused, taking in the new information.

“Hisoka.”

The blond Kurta inhaled sharply. Next to them, they could feel Pairo tense up.

“I guess that reaction means you've met that guy.”

They couldn't claim that they hadn't. Hisoka made Kurapika's skin crawl. They recalled sharp, manicured fingernails digging into their thigh and a voice, low and dripping with lust assaulting their ear. _'Maybe we get to play later, little boy.'_

“Once,” Kurapika pressed, lips going thin with disgust. “The encounter was anything but pleasant. You got to slip away unnoticed, I presume?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Leorio was a terrible liar, the shift of his eyes too obvious and prone to insecure mumbling. “Hisoka killed his attackers in one blow – with a card, _canyoubelievethat?_ \- and then he noticed Pokkle and me. Pokkle suggested we split up and make a run for it and he _did_ , but...”

Kurapika ignored the sick rumbling in their stomach; they had a feeling what was coming next. _'You haven't.'_ Except of course he had.

“...I couldn't. It wouldn't feel right. So I tried to punch him. Aaaand I have no idea what happened next, I woke up at the end of stage two with a huge swelling on my cheek and my friends fussing over me. Well, Gon fussed. Killua just laughed, because he's a shitty little brat.”

“You could have died,” Kurapika said, and even though they kept their volume low, they could not fully mask the agitation that sent their tongue flying in the first place. Leorio was immune to picking up such subtleties, but Pairo’s left hand grazed over the cushions of the couch until it bumped against Kurapika’s knee, seeking for confirmation that everything was alright. Kurapika took it and scooted close enough for each other's legs and shoulders to touch.

“Well, I could have died at any point in the exam, really-”

“That’s different,” Kurapika interjected, “dying in pursuit of one’s dreams is unfortunate, but not pointless. Going against an enemy who is way out of your league just to defend your morals is petty and serves _no one_.”

Leorio’s mood turned sour and at this point Kurapika was not even surprised that the older Hunter would consider this a blow to his pride, rather than an appeal to his common sense. He asked (hotly, voice raising almost to a shout), if they really thought it better to run like a coward and turn a blind eye to the crimes of this clown.

Pairo cleared his throat. “As the only one in this room who has his sight impaired, I think I’m qualified to say that it’s not turning a blind eye, not really, if one sees and lives to tell. Warning others is a way of protecting, too. Besides, no one will call you a coward for running from a member of the Phantom Troupe. Although it didn’t sound like you knew about this when you confronted him.”

Leorio didn't flinch. “Wouldn’t have mattered to me. Actually, that’s even more reason to punch this asshole clown in the face. But how do you know- you’ve been in Yorknew City during the time of the massacre?” Concern softened his features and he turned to Kurapika, lips parted from too many questions to ask, yet silent because he didn’t know which one to start with. Leorio’s eyes darted to Kurapika’s once broken arm.

Their chest turned cold with dread. Which was odd, really, after all, the mentioning of the Troupe alone should have sent their blood boiling. Had Leorio been near them? No. No, that was impossible. He wouldn't survive-

“We were,” Pairo confirmed.

Kurapika’s grip around Pairo’s wrist tightened; a warning, a voiceless _no_. “Don’t,” they whispered once they remembered the ways of their native tongue. “There’s no need for him to know that. I don’t want him involved.”

“Then don’t involve him. _You_ started telling him private information; you almost told him about our clan. If he were smarter and more educated, he could put the pieces together.” So calm, so collected. Not even a hint of a glow in his dark eyes, no trace that the dreadful event had affected him. Kurapika used to admire that, used to strive for this level of self-restraint; now it was a little unsettling. Almost like Pairo had stopped caring somewhere along the way. They searched their friend’s face for that speck of bitterness that had settled deep within his gentle core; it grew around the splinters of disappointment that the people of the outside world had driven into him (into both of them, really), hardening like a black pearl.

They could not begrudge Pairo this bitterness, nor could they deny that they had gone out of their way to explain things to Leorio – when it came to the matter of their gender alignment, telling others that they were genderfluid sufficed. Even though they had not quite grown comfortable with that label, providing it made a conversation easier. But Leorio had looked genuinely annoyed at himself for not understanding. _He_ cared. Perhaps that was all it took for Kurapika to overstep the boundaries they had set for this employment. Perhaps they had wanted to be understood.

“You’re right. I was careless. I’m sorry.”

Out of the corner of their eyes they noticed Leorio staring at them open-mouthed and dazed.

“Pairo wants to know if you’re done poking him with that needle, he was just too polite to ask.” Kurapika lied.

“Oh. Of course.” Putting the needle carefully on the coffee table, he turned to Pairo. “The sensitivity of your legs seems alright, which means that your spinal nerves haven’t dealt any lasting damage from the tumor. That’s great. Can you wiggle your toes? Can you move your legs at all?”

“A bit. But it's tiresome. They are so _heavy_.”

Leorio might have been surprised to find that his examinations were different from the post-surgery report, but in order to do that, the post surgery report would have to be present in the first place. A more experienced doctor would have noticed the absence of the document in the patient's file right away, so it was all the better that Leorio was none. All the necessary factors of a complete recovery were given, Pairo’s body held no longer any traces of foreign Nen that could lead to complications when Leorio applied his. The rest was irrelevant details.

Leorio asked plenty of other questions: if there were any exercises that Pairo currently did (not yet), if he had already started to learn Nen as well (slowly, he had only just begun training his Ten and before that spent months meditating to open his pores), if he was following a certain diet (more or less), and if they had access to a private gym (there was one on the first floor of the apartment and a small pool too, it was one of the perks living in a building that was planned as a hotel).

Kurapika reached for their tea – now lukewarm – and watched how Leorio cocked his head to the side as he thought the answers over. His foot jiggled rhythmically, which Kurapika had to admit, was a cute little tic.

“I’m going to need a few days to make some research about proper exercise techniques. For now I think it will do if you stretch a few times a day to make sure the blood flows properly in your limbs and you should gradually increase the amount of calories you eat, especially protein and carbs for every meal before Nen training. Because using Nen also requires a lot of energy, so if you don’t eat enough your atrophy might get worse, and carbs are the kind of food that the body can break down quickest. Massages are important too, because if your muscles are all tight and tense before you start exercising, you can cause more damage than good.”

Pairo made an acknowledging sound. “As long as Pizza Saturdays are sacred, I'm fine with anything.”

“Easy for you to say because you’re not going to be the one cooking,” Kurapika muttered under their breath.

Pairo elbowed them, beaming brightly. “That’s why I keep telling you to start dating cooks. You’ll save so much time and effort!”

“If I have time for dating, I have time for cooking.”

“Then skip the dating and get straight to the marriage.”

Kurapika allowed themselves a dry smile. “Ah, yes, you know how fond I am of trapping clueless people in loveless marriages with strangers, hence my long list of ex-spouses.”

“You and Tay Swiftlor would get along so well.”

“Who?”

“The singer that you-know-who adores so much? The one who constantly gets drama by the media for singing about her past relationships?”

Kurapika drew out a long ‘oh’ when they remembered the album that Neon had listened to, day and night, for _weeks_ after it came out. “So that’s her name.”

“Really now, how come you don’t know her, even I know who she is and I don’t listen to the radio,” Leorio remarked, being _utterly_ helpful.

“I don’t care about pop trivia,” Kurapika replied dryly. “I have more important things to do.”

“Like terrorizing strangers via phone and abducting them?”

“Maybe.” They hid their smile behind their tea cup, even more so because it was brimming with mirth and impossible to contain. Kurapika found it strange, but when one looked past Leorio's loud and, on occasion, ridiculous behavior, he was pleasant to be around – he could be quiet, if only he found his equilibrium – and he was approachable, willing to listen, willing to help… given different circumstances, Kurapika was sure they could have been friends. “If you have no more questions, I’d like you to go ahead to the library to discuss the financial aspect – you can’t miss it, it’s right opposite of the kitchen, there is a gray switch to open the door.”

“Ah, got it.” Leorio packed up his suitcase, whose contents had been unneeded after all, and left while paying his respects with a little salute. Kurapika put their cup aside again and knelt down to button Pairo’s pant leg back up, listening with half an ear to the heavy, dragging footsteps matching the medical student’s slouching walk. They waited for the low electrical hum of the automatic door’s engine to sound and only once it did, they began to inquire: “You don’t seem very excited.”

“There is not much to be excited about yet, is there?”, Pairo asked with a tilt of his head. He blinked lazily and tapped his chin, thinking. “He seems a nice enough person, although not an expert. I’m not sure how he is supposed to be any help aside from a consulting function, but I have trust in your choices. Am I going to stay cautious until I see the first results? Yes. And you should do the same. You always take it to heart when things don’t go the way you hoped for. I’d hate to see you get hurt over this.”

“I won’t,” Kurapika promised, sounding more stubborn than ever. Their mind was racing over the words _a nice enough person_ , which were not doing justice at all. How come their idea was met with concern wherever they turned? Melody had voiced some doubts when Kurapika first explained the situation, but it was part of her nature to avoid unnecessary risks. Pairo used to be compassionate, cheerful, curious… and he still was, meeting the right conditions. Only his interests and passions narrowed and Kurapika was not sure how to steer against this, to keep him engaged, to keep him happy.

“You’re...”, they began, and their eyes fell to their hands that were still fumbling with the fabric of Pairo's pants, although they had long finished buttoning the leg back up. They let it slip through their fingers, just like they let go of the question burning on their tongue. “You're going to like him, in time. I promise. He won't be a nuisance.”

“If you say so.”

 

If a library evolved like a human being, this one was still a child; the wall-high shelves stacked with hopes for the future and, occasionally, a few books. It held an abundance of space that was waiting to be filled, a few artifacts from various cultures - glass figurines of animals, a collection of wooden flutes and ocarinas, pipes, pottery painted with scenery of a creation myth that was entirely unknown to Leorio, a hookah... all sleek and shiny and none of it antique. Aside from the clay brown carpet and the light walls, everything in the room was dark leather and wood, from the black work desk that was set up in one corner, to the arrangement of chaise lounge and armchairs that promised some reading comfort in the other.

The books had the right smell, weighed with the dust of age, pouring from yellowed pages. He ran a finger over the spines and almost expected them to sigh dreamily, as foolish as that was. They had been transformed by the work of many hands, dog ears and tiny scribbled notes adorned the pages like scars and love marks of their past life.

When the automatic doors of the library slowly swung inside, Leorio hastily closed the book that he totally hadn't just picked up from the shelves without permission, although he may have been a bit too eager to return it to its place. It tumbled out of his hand and in the fraction of the second that it took for his reflexes to kick in, he flailed with his arms and broke the book's fall with his ulna, before he could make a grab for it.

“Nice save.” Kurapika's eyebrows rose to their hairline as they ambled closer... but not too close, keeping a distance of an arm's reach.

Leorio's response was to straighten his back and to laugh too loud. “Well, what can I say? I am a man of many talents.”

“I noticed,” they said nonchalantly and crossed their arms before their chest.

Leorio caught himself at that; he fell back into a slouch and rubbed his neck. “Uh. Nice collection of books you have here. Although some of the medical ones are a bit outdated.”

Kurapika had never seen s omeone so perfectly portray a deer in the headlights, the way the rookie Hunter held himself half crouched, the book pressed to his chest. If they thought about it, Leorio resembled a deer in more than just this regard, from the color of his eyes to his dark, freckled skin or the long limbs that had the potential to be graceful but failed to translate it into motion. Even his way of flinching from the vehemence of his own words was comparable to a young stag getting startled by the shedding if its own antlers.

“There are surgery techniques that go back more than thousand years,” Kurapika remarked, thinking themselves very clever. And maybe, just maybe they were enjoying that they found someone who was impressed by their knowledge instead of taking it for granted or act bitter about it.

“Well, _yes_ – but that doesn't mean that it's just as safe to use a chisel to open a skull as a sterilized drill.”

Kurapika scrunched up their face. “Neither option sounds very attractive, to be honest. I prefer to have my skull in one piece.”

“I can relate.”

Again, they smiled despite themselves and turned their face away from Leorio's curious eyes, hoping it would go unnoticed. With a di smissive flicker of their wrist they beckoned Leorio to follow them to the desk. “As for your salary, you will be paid in cash; my employer would prefer it if there were no financial links that could be traced back to him, so I think I do n't have to explain to you why you shouldn't put it in your regular bank account. However, you should also refrain from spending it to pay your bills right away. It will look suspicious if you stop using the money that the Hunter Association grants you for your student scholarship. I strongly advise you to open a bank account under a fake name to store at least half of the money.” Kurapika pulled their phone out of their shorts which had a single key chain dangling from it in the shape of a Klefki. They used the bronze key to lock up the desk’s top drawer and handed Leorio a brown envelope. He turned it upside down and a print slipped into his hand.

“This is your contract; It will not leave this room so read it carefully before you sign it. You will be hired for six months, regardless of how quick Pairo recovers. I'm afraid the sum you will receive monthly is not negotiable, but we will purchase any school supplies you might need for you, particularly textbooks.”

Leorio took his time leafing through the pages. Once he reached the third one, his face underwent a rapid transition: it turned pale, the space between his eyebrows crinkled up as his eyes darted back to the top rows of the page. Brows furrowed in concentration, his lips parted, teeth bare, Leorio seemed like a constipated man.

“Is something wrong?”

“I can't accept that money. It's far too much.”

“It's not,” Kurapika assured. Leorio nearly jumped so upset was he, and side-stepped closer while stabbing the part of the document that brought up his anger.

“Are you kidding me? That is a not a sum of money that people should be allowed to carry in their pockets like that, and you wanna pay me in _cash_? Besides, I have yet to do anything to deserve that.”

“What part of 'not negotiable' did you not understand?”

“You can't tell me your boss would mind if you paid me less.”

“They would find it suspicious at least,” Kurapika replied with an edge. “Look, this sum wasn't determined randomly. It was tailored to fit your needs, with this amount of money you should be able to pay your rent and afford a healthy diet. The keyword being _healthy_. You think you don't deserve it? Then use it as a motivation to do your best.”

Leorio squinted and leaned in close; Kurapika, considering this an invitation for a traditional stare down, met him halfway until their foreheads almost touched.

“You're a stubborn little shit, I hope someone already told you that.”

“Frequently. I take it as a compliment.”

“Of course you do.”

Kurapika would later deny having wriggled their eyebrows at Leorio because wriggling eyebrows was not a thing they did – but they must have done  _something_ when the medical student pressed his eyes shut and let out a little huff. (Kurapika always fought with unfair advantages. Most of the time they were aware of it – a piece of information withheld, a weakness that was shamelessly exploited – but in this case they were oblivious to the way that their conditioner's scent triggered the happy part in Leorio's brain, or that their lashes looked like fine spun gold to the other.)

“Fine! Shower me in cash, whatever.” Leorio threw his arms up in defeat, and then remembered something. “But-” In an attempt to accentuate his words he almost poked one of Kurapika's eyes out. “You have to let me treat you to a drink some time.”

“I don't think you're in any position to make these kinds of demands, Leorio,” Kurapika laughed. He was of course in the perfect position to make demands, considering how essential he was to the project, considering that the chances of finding another Nen user with a similar Hatsu were close to zero, but Leorio hadn't thought of using this as leverage to get more out of the deal – reason enough for Kurapika to actually contemplate the offer. It rang too good to be true; the arrangements were made too smoothly, the only resistance stemming from Pairo himself, and in addition to a new hope, Kurapika might get their chance of sitting down with their new acquaintance, chatting away about nothing in particular. They had to admit that the prospect of doing something normal for a change was tempting. Leorio's entire charm lay in this, in being average. Just a normal young man who was struggling with everyday life, struggling to get through school but with a perspective of a future he wanted to build for himself. There was subtle beauty to be found in this, recognizable only in the eyes of those who could never achieve this amount of normalcy.

There had to be a catch. A trace of poison in the cake. And yet, Leorio pulled a pen out of the inner pockets of his suit jacket and tapped the tip on the paper while eyeing Kurapika expectantly.

“Well, what do you think?”

“You should know that I don't drink.”

“Doesn't have to be alcohol. We can get milkshakes or something. I know a real cool ice cream bar in town. That... was not supposed to be a pun, by the way.”

“I'm lactose intolerant.”

“No you're not, quit messing with me. I heard you order that latte when we met and you didn't ask about almond milk. Look, you don't want to? Then say it. But don't tease. That's not fair.”

But it was _fun_. Being chased after, being sought out. However, they had reached a point where any further evasion would be equal to a rejection. “I will think about it, how's that for an answer? I heard your offer and I will take you up on it should the opportunity arise. But you and I will be very busy the next weeks.”

“Huh,” Leorio said and scratched a spot underneath his earlobe with the pen. “Works for me.”

Kurapika nudged him to finally sign the contract. Funny how all of their arrangements weren't real without a bunch of small scribbles, blue on white, although Leorio could be trusted to stick to his words. There would be no cruel twist of fate this time, no repetition of the events in Yorknew City. Not with _him_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Pairo's lines in the dream were taken from the manga scanlations on mangahere.co  
> [2] Mau-Mau is a card game that is played with a deck of skat cards and follows similar rules like Uno


End file.
